Bleeding Lullaby
by DiagnosedCuckooLander
Summary: He sits amongt the dust and crumbling plaster, his only solace a faded portrait of the woman who laid claim to his unbeating heart. He's waited centuries for her return, and he'll make sure that she's reunited with him, whether she wants to be or not.
1. Chapter 1

Slender fingers swathed in black cloth tapped gently on the dark wood of a battered Chinese table, dangerously close to the guttering flame of a candle stub. Hooded scarlet eyes watched the digits move with mild interest, dully noting that they had struck the surface of the table exactly seven hundred and seventy-seven. Ironic. A smile spread across his face, but it felt like someone else's mirth. "After all, how many people count off the number of years lived on their fingers at my age? Or have so much spare time that they can laze around drumming their fingers incessantly for hours at a time in the first place?" His fingers ceased their spastic movements, instead roaming upwards to run through his mid-length gingery blond locks and fiddle with the ribbons streaming from his top hat before once again lighting upon the burnished wood.

The man's eyes moved to the candle, whose wick was nearly spent; the flame stalwartly continued to burn, but the candle itself had been reduced to little more than a misshapen lump of paraffin, thick globules of wax running down into the holder like fat white tears. A stream of chill autumn air blew in through the open window, ruffling the moth-eaten curtains and snuffing the flickering flame out. He smiled once again and this time there was a trace of humour decorating his features, but it was underlined with bitterness. "Like the ephemeral flame of a candle, life flickers into existence only to be unceremoniously snuffed out...My, I'm rather depressing today," he murmured, addressing the gilded portrait across the room, now drumming his fingertips against his jaw line. "Then again, I haven't much to be happy about, do I?" The vacant smile of the painting seemed to encourage him, for he went on. "I've lived too long, and especially too long without you." Here, he removed his gloves so that he might stroke the cheek of the painting's face, frowning when his hand met with rough canvas rather than flesh. "Cursed to live this half-life, wallowing in a derelict mansion full of ghosts, my only solace a decaying portrait of the beauty that was once you...Not even a corporeal imprint, but a mere pitiful representation." Unconsciously, he dug his nails into the walls, resulting in deep groove marks and a shower of crumbled plaster. Wild-eyed, he edged so close to the painting that his forehead brushed against the canvas. "But it'll be all right. My seven hundredth and seventy-seventh year has finally come, the number of perfection, and soon we'll be reunited, my dearest."

Eighteen-year-old Elizabeta Héderváry was sitting alone at the table farthest from the drunken revelry with her chin propped in her hands, glaring dully, at her drink, completely out of her element. Thunderous bass pounding in sync with the grinding parody of sex that had the gall to call itself a dance, flashing strobe lights throwing the mashed-together bodies into sharp relief and highlighting the glistening flesh with unnatural colours.

It was gauche, it was uncouth and for some mysterious reason, she just couldn't bring herself to enjoy it. Well, perhaps that was a bit of a lie; Elizabeta knew the source of her despondency, even if she wasn't willing to admit it.

She'd been plagued by a dream-nightmare, actually, for weeks on end. In it, she crept through a dilapidated corridor, floorboards creaking and decayed leaves crunching beneath her feet. Damp, dust and the moist, squalid seduction of rot wafted through her nose, making her head swirl. It was dark as a night with neither moon nor stars, and she could barely make her way down the seemingly endless hall, leaning on the wall and feeling her way down. Finally, she made it to the end of the hall, where she would come face to face with a massive painting that stretched from the top to bottom of the wall from which it hung. It was then that the dream, at first merely disconcerting and surreal, took a turn for the macabre. For the face of the portrait belonged to none other than herself, her visage captured so perfectly on canvas that it felt more like staring into the glass depths of a mirror rather than a picture. As she gaped at her oil and glaze doppelganger, a long, pale hand would descend on her shoulder, the fingers spindly and spiderlike but powerful and she would be spun around, the cold hands now tangling into her hair and tilting her chin upwards, where she would be met with burning vermillion orbs that glinted darkly at her with a predatory combination of desire and purpose.

"It's been too long, iubirea mea," were the words that would reverberate through her head before teeth like serrated knives tore into her neck, severing the carotid artery and splattering the painting behind her with blood.

Elizabeta shook herself from her musings, golden-brown hair whipping about her pallid face in wild tendrils. "Get a grip," she whispered furiously. "You can't let your life be dictated by a dream, even if it is recurrent and creepy as fuck." Irritated with both herself and the hot, over-sexualized atmosphere, she slammed her hands down on the table's surface with such force she was surprised that it didn't crack down the center.

A man, who had walked up to her table and was eyeing her turned pale and fled into the tangled crowd of gyrating bodies, shoving his way past the sweating couples in search of attractive female company that didn't look as though they would like to rip his manhood off and stir their drink with it before throwing it in his face. Elizabeta snorted. "Wow, a man who can actually pick up moods and signals. Amazing." She crossed her arms over her ample cleavage, which had been the main focus of the stranger's attention. "Damn Gilbert for talking me into this shit and this Sluts-R-Us outfit anyway," she groused. "When he gets back here I swear, I'm going to deck him right in the-" Her musings were interrupted by the reappearance of the man of the hour, who plunked down in the seat next to her with his usual shit-eating grin firmly in place.

"Heya Liz, what're you mumbling to yourself about?" He shouted in her ear. "How I'm going to punch you in the cracker jacks for dragging me into this God-forsaken nightclub. Really, this is supposed to take the edge off my anxiety?"

Gilbert's grin deflated somewhat. "Unless you're planning on kissing them better, don't harm my love spuds tonight; I'm going to need them in full working order for later," he said, throwing a furtive glance at the bar. "What's got you so worked up anyway? I can't help unless you tell me, and none of this 'I haven't been sleeping well' shit, because I know it's more than not, or my name isn't Gilbert Beilschmidt, King of Awesome!"

Elizabeta stared at him blankly. "It's not." Gilbert tilted his chair back so that it was balancing on the back legs. "It is in my head and soon, if the papers come through, it will be legally." He looked her, a frown replacing his usual smirk. "Seriously Liz, what the hell is going on?" She plucked a strand of hair from her bare shoulder and shrugged. "Nothing you'd understand." "Try me."

Emerald eyes glittered dangerously at him. "Fine. You want to know what's been fucking with my head? Well here it is." Tears of frustration formed in the corners of her eyes as she spilled the essence of her nightmares to her best friend, detailing the oppressing feel and dank stench of the decrepit mansion, the combination of curiosity and trepidation as she stared at the portrait that shared her face, the terror that gripped her heart with hands as icy as the ones that stroked her face before a mouth full of razor-edged teeth ripped her throat open.

"And that's it," she whispered, clenching her fists. "It sounds crazy, I know, but I feel as if this dream is... "Prophetic?" Gilbert offered, sucking on the filter of an unlit cigarette. He rhythmically flicked his cross-patterned lighter on and off, as if toying with the notion of actually lighting his cigarette up. Elizabeta stared at the ghostly flame wavering in the dim confines of the club, entranced. "Pretty much," she admitted. "Stupid huh?" She asked, hoping that he would say yes, so that they could both laugh it off and she could just put it all behind her.

Her hopes were dashed when Gilbert took on an uncharacteristically solemn expression. "I don't know, Liz, a dream that realistic and chronic seems sort of like...A warning, maybe." Abruptly, he flicked his lighter off for the last time and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. "Maybe you should stay over at my place tonight?" He offered. His suggestion was met with a look of mingled disapproval and amusement. "Thanks for the offer Gil, but I don't think that's the best idea. We both know how you get when drunk, and I'd really rather not be around for your alcohol-fueled shenanigans."

"Touché, Liz. But for real, if you do feel like you need some company later tonight, I'll come right over. And I promise, no drunken groping this time." He looked so earnest that Elizabeta had to crack a smile. "All right, she giggled, I'll hold you to that."

The words were barely out of her mouth before the sonorous throbbing of Rihanna's "S&M" began to blare throughout the club, throwing the already frenzied dance floor into further chaos. Gilbert smirked and barked out his trademark "Kesekesekese", white hair highlighted a garish shade of pink as a flurry of multi-hued lights hit their table. He jumped to his feet, rolling his hips in a manner that even Elizabeta in her agitated state could appreciate as sensual.

"I'm gonna hit the dance floor. Holler if you need me. God knows you're loud enough to be heard even over all this noise." Ducking a good-natured swipe of her fist, Gilbert snaked his way into the tangled sea of bodies where he proceeded to put the (dance) moves on a rather buxom woman with close-cropped corn silk hair and an oh-so-serious expression. Oddly enough, despite her no-nonsense look, she seemed responsive to Gilbert, or at least not unresponsive, as she began to match her movements with his, albeit somewhat stiffly.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, professional lady killer and man eater," Elizabeta quipped, rolling her eyes but smiling fondly. Her smile fell, however, replaced by a look of deep contemplation. She just couldn't bring herself to enjoy the club settings. In her frazzled state of mind, it was just too dark, too hot, too _close._ The bass seemed to beat in synchronization with her heart, the flashing strobe lights left spots of colour dancing in her vision long after they'd faded and the gazes that men and women alike were giving her put her on razor's edge. The very air seemed to vibrate with heat and sound alike and she felt an intense desire to run out into the frigid night air and escape the wanton eroticism and deafening noise, if only for a minute.

Scraping her seat back, Elizabeta bolted to her feet, fully intending to slip on her jacket and slip out the back door, instead stiffening when she felt a hand slide down her bared back and across her shoulders. Snapping her head around so quickly she got whiplash, she opened her mouth to tell whoever was touching her to take their hand off before she broke it off, only to freeze up when she met a pair of amused blood-red eyes slightly obscured by strands of strawberry-blonde locks. The thought that these eyes were simultaneously so similar to and yet so unlike Gilbert's eyes flashed briefly through her mind before instinct set in and she swung a fist at the man's face. To her dismay, he caught it easily, smiling a close-lipped smile all the while even as he leaned towards her and inhaled deeply. _Oh God, my nightmares come true and now he's going to rip my throat open and paint the walls with my blood and I never even told Gilbert to feed my dog in the case of my untimely death. _

Instead of tearing into the flesh of her neck as expected, the stranger instead began to plant butterfly kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, mumbling about how he had 'finally found her' in a thick Eastern European accent. Definitely not as painful and terrifying as what her dreams had foretold, but definitely just as unwelcome and Elizabeta seized the opportunity while he was distracted assaulting her neck to deliver a vicious right hook to the side of his head. Whereas any other person would have dropped like a rock, he merely ceased his ministrations and looked up at her quizzically. "Did you want to ask me something, iubirea?"

Rubbing her sore knuckles, she stared at him, abject terror written across her face. _I might as well have slammed my fist into a wall of granite. And what the hell does this asshole mean by iubirea? I am NOT his love! _Her trepidation increased tenfold as he slid behind her in a fluid motion so fast she couldn't even see him move before wrapping his arms around her and licking the shell of her ear, his tongue leaving a trail of saliva that burned when it came in contact with her flesh. Elizabeta whimpered, her legs trembling as a hand came up to squeeze one of her generous breasts, toying with her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. Just like his tongue, his hands seemed to radiate heat wherever they touched her, despite the fact that they were initially cold as ice to the touch.

Biting her lip against the moan that was about to spill from her mouth, Elizabeta redoubled her efforts to escape his grasp, clawing at him violently, but his arms felt like steel rods and rather than a grand escape, she instead found herself being dragged along by him towards the floor so quickly that she stumbled. He smirked at the angry and fearful look thrown his way, taking her momentary loss of balance to pull her up against him once more. The tempo of "I Like That" began to throb as the anonymous bodies around them began to move in sync with the beat. Grinding his hips against hers, he slid his hands down the smooth expanse of her back before resting them at the curve of her hips, swaying her closer.

**You're dressed to kill me kill me**

**So if I die tonight**

** At least you'll thrill me thrill me**

**My body rocks a rhythm, you beat my drum hard...**

The words "thrill me and kill me" echoed through Elizabeta's mind, goose bumps erupting against her flesh despite the multitude of perspiring bodies clustered around her. She had to escape this man's grip, but the only thing he seemed intent upon was feeling up every inch of her that he could reach. He stroked his hands up and down her abdomen, dipped them between the swell of her breasts, rubbed her hips, all whilst making sure to just barely graze her more intimate spots.

Elizabeta grit her teeth as he turned her so that her back was facing him, gyrating his hips against her bottom. At this point, she'd almost prefer that he kill her rather than assault her body with his burning touch and erotic movements.

Without warning, he tilted her backwards so that she fell backwards against his chest. Unconsciously, her legs splayed slightly to regain her balance, which he interpreted as an invitation to stroke his hands against her inner thighs. Humiliated, Elizabeta drove her elbows into his gut, praying that she'd at least be able to loosen his grip, but once again, her attacks entertained him rather than injured him.

"Really dear," he purred, "you should of realized long ago that your attempts at doing me injury are for naught; just relax and let me take care of you." At this, he nuzzled the juncture between her neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth against her skin, fingers creeping upwards from her thighs to the hem of her panties.

Hissing in rage, Elizabeta struggled so ferociously against his grasp that he actually had to tighten his hold on her. "The fuck I'll let you 'take care of me'," she snarled. "Let go of me this instant or I swear, I'm going to cut a hole in your scrotum with a rusty dagger, stick an M80 in there and blast your-"

Her colourful threat was cut short when he tilted his head down and captured her lips with his. Her mind went blank as he nipped her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, eliciting a pained gasp from her before sliding his fire-hot tongue inside of her mouth, flicking it against hers and exploring the warm, damp cavern of her mouth, sliding against every tooth and crevice. She knew that she should fight, shove him away from her and run away, but his mouth apparently produced some sort of mild venom, for she found her muscles growing lax and weighted, as though they had been filled with warm sand, her head felt light, and she would have fainted had his arms not been supporting her. Feebly, she pushed her hands against his chest in a last-ditch effort to push him off of her, but more of the toxic liquid oozed into her mouth from both his saliva and the small bite he'd inflicted on her lip. As the white dots blurring her vision darkened into a thick black veil that she seemed to pitch backwards into, she couldn't help but wonder how the hell it was that nobody had noticed her struggling with her assailant right in the middle of the dance floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Head pounding, Elizabeta came to lying face down on a musty-smelling bed. Her nose crinkled in further distaste when a fine layer of dust erupted from the sheets when she pushed herself off of the mattress. Giving the room a once-over, she voiced her conclusion that it was an complete and utter shithole. The paint was peeling, the gilded vanity was black with grime, all of the furniture was marked with water stains and deep scratches, and the fetid stench of decay permeated throughout the whole place, irritating her sinuses. All of those little niceties, of course, paled in comparison to the fact that she'd been abducted by a randy vampire thing whose only redeeming quality was that he didn't sparkle, at least not as far as she knew.

"But who gives a shit about that, what I need to focus on is getting out of here," she muttered. She strode to the battered wooden door, still feeling a bit wobbly, and wrenched it open, dully surprised when it actually swung open, revealing a hallway that looked even more rundown than the room. _You'd think that he'd lock me in. Either he's an idiot or he's confident that I can't escape. _

Clinging to the hope that it was the former, Elizabeta began her trek down the immense hall, wincing as every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet seemed to scream a warning to the master of the house that his prisoner was attempting to flee. Ominously enough, Elizabeta was reminded of her dream; every detail was precisely the same, except rather than being swathed in darkness, the corridor was instead lit by old-fashioned gas lamps, whose guttering light, feeble though it was, was sufficient to illuminate her way, although just barely. However, this also meant that it threw every single aspect of the hall into view, and the grisly embellishments made her stomach turn.

Dark stains which looked terribly reminiscent of aged blood were streaked across the mildewed walls. Massive, corroded chandeliers swung menacingly above her head, looking as though the fragile chains suspending them might snap at any given moment and crush her. Dirt, leaves and something she didn't wish to identify were heaped in every corner and if she strained, she could hear the soft _plink _of dripping water, which could only be a ceiling leak. But worst of all, even worse than the faded blood stains were the paintings on the walls, all of which featured the man who had brought her to this house of horrors.

Vivid depictions of him impaling victims with falchions, whipping their backs until they were devoid of flesh and nothing but a torn network of bloody criss-crosses, sipping blood from a cut-crystal goblet whilst reclining amidst piles of rotting corpses... There were others, many others, all of the same vein, displaying his thirst for both sadism and blood alike and sickened, Elizabeta quickened her pace and lowered her head, refusing to give the immortalized depravity any further attention.

Just when she thought that she might be nearing the end of the hall, the lamplights suddenly died, causing her to stumble and nearly fall when her foot caught on a loosened floorboard. Left with no choice, Elizabeta groped her way down the remainder of the corridor, using the wall for support, wincing when her hands met with something warm and wet. _Fresh blood_, she thought, feeling as though she might throw up when the acrid, metallic tang hit her nostrils. Furthering her speed, Elizabeta all but ran, nearly tripping in her urgency to get away from the pungent stink that saturated the air, legs pumping desperately before she finally lost her footing and fell, but not before finally escaping the hallway.

Pushing herself to her knees, Elizabeta noted that she had landed in what appeared to be a sumptuously decorated antechamber. The opulence of the foyer was somewhat marred in that, like everything else she had seen so far, it had fallen into a state of degradation. The spiral staircase had several collapsed steps, the banister was covered in a thick coating of dust, as were the chandelier and the candle holder set upon the worm holed table and all of the windows, which were stain glassed and portrayed the more disturbing of the New Testament scenes were streaked with years' worth of dirt, plunging the room into eternal night. All in all, the place had the feel of an abandoned church and Elizabeta wanted more than ever to just get out and never set her eyes on it again.

And there, less than ten feet away, standing there like a beacon of light, was the front door. "Oh, thank God!" She cried, bolting towards it. Just a few more steps, and she was free! She extended her hand, fingers brushing against the doorknob...And stiffened when she felt a familiar bony hand light upon her shoulder. _Of course, it's never that easy, is it? _Elizabeta thought, and she wanted to both cry and scream every expletive she knew. Instead, she settled for slamming her fist into his damnably calm face and shoving her knee into his groin with so much force that he was actually lifted several inches off of the ground.

Once again, he shot her that damn shit-eating smile, completely unaffected by her hits, and this time, she did scream, so loudly that the chandelier seemed to shake. Her cries echoed throughout the room, sending a distorted reverberation of her rage back at her, which only served to incense her further.

"Fuck you fucking fuck son of a bitch let me go, let me go, LET ME GO!" Elizabeta stood there, pounding her fists against his chest, staining his white shirt with blood from when she'd touched the wall, shouting further obscenities at him until her throat was raw.

He grabbed her wrists, effectively halting her assault, pulling her towards him. "Really now, all of these hysterics are rather unbecoming. And for the record, my name is Alexandru, not fucking fuck son of a bitch, although I must admit it does have a ring to it. Perhaps I'll use it as a pseudonym." He smiled at her again, sending fury boiling through her like lava. _He's toying with _me, she raged, and, without thinking of the consequences, Elizabeta spat in his face, immensely satisfied when the spittle landed right on his razor-sharp cheekbone.

His grin stretched so wide she thought his face would split, lips moving upwards to reveal what looked like row upon row of fang-like teeth. Slowly, he slid his tongue out and lapped up the saliva dripping down his cheek. Elizabeta looked up at him, revulsion written all over her face.

"Thank you, I quite enjoyed that. As always, you taste absolutely delectable, even if it _was _meant to affront me. Alas, I'd prefer a more...direct sample." He crushed his mouth to hers, just like he'd done at the nightclub, invading her mouth with his scorching tongue once again, leaving every spot that it massaged feeling as though it had been burned. One hand cupped and squeezed her ass, the other kneaded her right breast and again Elizabeta felt her body begin to go weak and her mind begin to cloud as he grew more desperate in his ministrations.

_Why is it that I get like this every time he touches me? Is there actually something about physical contact with him that can weaken me? _With the little energy that she could muster, Elizabeta snapped her teeth down on his tongue, praying that her theory was correct.

Alexandru pulled away from her, growling deep in the back of his throat. To her relief, Elizabeta saw that she had been right; as soon as he broke away from her, strength had returned to her body and the wooziness had faded. Erstwhile, Alexandru was taking his turn to utter curses, hissing and spitting out blood such a deep shade of red it was nearly black. As he continued to sputter blood out onto the floor, Elizabeta noticed something small and pink lying on the ground. Her eyes widened. In her frantic bid to get him off of her, she had bitten the tip of his tongue clean off. She wasn't in the least bit sorry, but she was disgusted and she continued to stare aghast at the tiny piece of muscle, jumping back when she saw it spasm slightly.

"That was rather impolite," he said in a thick voice, frowning. Tearing her eyes away from the sight of the chunk of tongue twitching on the floor like a fat pink maggot, Elizabeta was confronted with the equally revolting sight of his mangled tongue hanging out his mouth. Her repulsion was furthered when she saw the wound seemingly stitch itself closed before the missing flesh began to regenerate, sinuous strips of skin and muscle snaking out of the gash and twining around one another to form an entirely new tip.

Waggling his newly re-grown tongue at her in an obscene manner, Alexandru pulled her to his chest, chuckling into the crook of her neck. Unfeeling of the nails that clawed into his arms and the kicks to his shins, he began to suckle on her pulse point, moaning as he caught the scent of her blood flowing through the artery.

Elizabeta fought against the sudden wave of arousal that was rolling over her, sending pinpricks of heat pooling into her belly. She finally understood the trick to his manipulations of her body; it wasn't just venom like she'd believed earlier. The bastard had the ability to emit pheromones to bend a victim to his will before injecting the poison that would incapacitate them and leave them open to be drained. As though it weren't enough that he could in all probability bench-press a truck with one hand, he could release waves of hormones to subdue, sedate and arouse her at any moment he pleased.

_It's over_, she thought helplessly, feeling his hardening manhood pressing against her, _it's over and I've lost, never even had a chance to begin with, actually. _Images of him raping and savaging her until she was nothing more than a broken doll, sprawled out on the dirty floor limbs akimbo and eyes vacant, another morbid ornament to his hell house raced through her mind. And despite the fact that she despised crying, hated to feel so weak, stinging tears began to well up in her eyes, tumbling down her cheeks in rivulets as her shoulders began to tremble.

Alexandru caught the brackish scent of saline, felt warm liquid soaking through his shirt and froze, eyes wide. She was crying? Gently, he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back slightly to better observe her. _She is_, he marveled. Although that was a bit of an understatement, actually. Elizabeta was sobbing, tears pouring down her face and her entire body shaking like an autumn leaf caught in a sudden wind.

Her tears confused him, irritated him, and incredibly enough made him feel the tiniest sliver of guilt. He wouldn't help but to dredge up an ancient memory of a child that had been set upon by a group of his own kind, mauled, drained and left to die. The child had cried piteously, green eyes glassy while awaiting a death that was too slow in arriving and as he had felt the smallest ounce of pity then, so did he at this moment. He hated the foreign feeling of mercy, so accustomed he was to indulging his desires without thought to the needs of others. But it persisted in niggling at him, urging him to quell his carnal instincts before she grew to revile him more than ever. _If she hates you, _a tiny voice insisted, _she'll never acquiesce. You can try and force her all you want, but the weaker usually dies in the struggle and what will you do then? All that effort, wasted. _Gritting his teeth, he swept her up bridal style, ignoring the desire to ravage her and turn her whimpers into cries of ecstasy and instead carried her down the hall, back to the room from which she had earlier fled.

Dropping her unceremoniously onto the bed, he stared hard at Elizabeta as she scooted backwards in an attempt to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. He took in her wide eyes, the tense way she held herself as if ready to flee if he so much as blinked, how she gripped the sheets with shaking hands. Inwardly, Alexandru cursed. _If only she knew the truth, she would not be so resistant towards me. _Alas, it was far too soon to reveal any more of himself to her, despite his desire to have her pliable and compliant with him. He sighed, pushed her hair away from her face and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss before sweeping out of the room, red-lined cape fluttering behind him and closing the door, this time bolting it shut. As he strode down the hall, jaw tightly clenched and gait rigid, Alexandru felt venom pool in his mouth, a dark combination of hunger and arousal pooling within him. Well, if Elizabeta was not willing, there was always an abundance of prostitutes and runaways milling about the streets, just ripe for the picking. Earlier commiseration gone, he smirked, fangs extending. _I may spare you my attentions for the time being, but anyone else who stumbles upon my path will not be so fortunate. And as for next time...Next time, I won't have so much self-control with you._

Curled up on the aged mattress, Elizabeta rubbed furiously at her eyes, trying to remove any indication of the tears that had been falling down her cheeks. She was relieved that he had stopped, but she couldn't help but think 'What about next time?' Elizabeta was certain that the only reason why Alexandru had held himself back this time was because, in his own warped manner, he didn't want her to hate him, at least not anymore than she already did. "But once he realizes that I'll always hate him, especially after what he almost did today..." She shuddered, knowing the answer. Next time, there would be no restraint on his account; he would crush whatever softer emotions he might feel and take her, disregarding any protests. Any hopes she had harbored of escaping had been dashed; she was trapped and at his steadily waning mercy. Shivering, she buried her face in her arms and began to cry again.

Alexandru's hooded scarlet eyes roamed the club. It wasn't the same one where he had found Elizabeta, but the overall atmosphere was strikingly similair; flashing strobe lights, blaring music, glistening couples simulating clothed copulation. _How vulgar. Excellent, _ he thought, satisfied. The bright lighting and the high volume of the fraudulent excuse for music offended his senses, true, but he required someone to satisfy his urges, lest he lose sight of himself once again. He didn't want to risk harming her by allowing his physical desires to best him. However, he had been sitting cross-legged at a table for nearly twenty minutes, looking attractively disengaged whilst nursing a mostly untouched tumbler of whiskey and hadn't yet spotted anyone who met his requirements.

Alexandru was ready to leave when his eyes widened ever so slightly, having finally caught sight of a possible target. He angled his head to better appraise her, nodding slightly. "She will do quite well," he murmured, standing up in a single graceful movement. He threaded his way through the gyrating crowd, nonchalantly edging around frenzied couples with the ease that came only to creatures of the night. He had nearly reached his intended quarry when she suddenly moved away.

His eyes narrowed. "This is becoming far too drawn out." Abandoning his pretense of exiting the club, he sauntered over to the bar, where the girl was placing an order.

She turned around suddenly, and would have bumped into him were it not for his inhuman reflexes. Rather than the maladroit fall that would have sent the contents of her glass all over his shirtfront, she was instead caught in Alexandru's arms and steadied. "Are you all right miss?" He asked, false concern plastered all over his face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." She trailed off, her eyes bugging as they raked over him. Her gaze was predatory and he nearly laughed aloud. If only she knew that he was on the prowl for something much darker than what she had in mind. He was well aware that humans both female and male alike found him alluring; unnatural levels of beauty was but a minor weapon in the arsenal of the vampire.

"No need to apologize, the fault was all mine." Alexandru drawled, smirking. His eyes swept her up and down, the smile spreading further across his face. The girl was so lust-ridden that she didn't even notice his fangs. "Anything I can do to make up for it?" He pressed on, eyes twinkling suggestively.

Her responding smile was coy. "You can do anything you want to." Blue eyes roamed up and down him just as he had done to her. "Yes, anything...you..want." The last words came out as a breathy whisper as she licked her lips, moving so close to him that her breasts were crushed up against his chest, lashes fluttering in an attempt to seem coquettish, although the action came off as rather slutty rather than sultry.

Alexandru leered even wider at her, venom dripping from his canines as the hunger began to override his senses. Years of practice had taught him to easily determine which women were of easy virtue, and as per usual, he'd been spot-on in his assessment. She was already whispering sweet nothings and nibbling his earlobe, her hands with their talon-like nails practically down his pants. Blinded by his handsome countenance, she flocked to him like a fly to a carnivorous plant. _Foolish woman. _However, she had long, light-brown hair that fell in waves down her back and ample charms; with the exception of her eye colour, she was a dead ringer for Elizabeta, and that was all he wanted. Well, that along with a nice drink...

Minutes later, they were in the master bedroom of his manor, the girl, who had told him that her name was Jennifer, sitting across from him on the bed, oblivious to the ramshackle appearance of his home, as he reclined on an overstuffed chair, pouring two glasses of wine. Alexandru handed one to her, watching silently as she gulped it down. _How crass. _He was glad that he had to suffer her company only a little while longer. He had to admit that her blood did have a fairly appealing scent, thought it was somewhat marred by alcohol and her undoubtedly questionable sex life.

He set his own glass untouched on the bedside table before wrapping his arms around her, sniffing her hair appreciatively. "You smell delicious...I could just eat you right up."

Jennifer giggled, her laugh turning into a moan as he began to kiss and suckle the side of her neck before moving down to her throat, raking his teeth across the sensitive flesh. "Oh, it feels like I was at that club just for you to find me."

"I feel the same," Alexandru said, feeling his pants tighten. "Oh yes, exactly the same..." Without preamble, he slowly began to unbutton his shirt before finally sliding out of and letting it fall to the floor, where it lay, a bright white contrast to the dark wood panels. He then stepped up to Jennifer, sliding his hands around her waist, creeping them up to the flimsy straps of her bright pink dress, caressing them lightly before hooking his fingers around the straps and sliding them off her shoulders. She squirmed, helping him to slide the garment off, hissing as the silk brushed against her skin before pooling around her ankles.

Eyes heavily lidded, she delicately crawled back onto the bed, lolling against the pillows with her bare chest thrust out and her tongue flicking over her painted lips as she slid a hand down the front of her panties. "Fuck me," she mouthed, crooking a finger towards him in a come-hither motion.

He slithered on his belly after her, the mattress creaking slightly as he turned her around so that she was facing the headboard. She whimpered and gripped the top of the headboard, feeling herself grow wetter. But hot damn, she loved a dominant man...

Alexandru unzipped his fly, groaning in relief as his cock was finally liberated from the confines of his pants. He wrapped a hand around her waist to steady the both of them, using his free hand to slide her lacy red panties aside before gently cupping and massaging her mound with his palm, teasingly stroking her inner thighs, tracing her swollen lips, before finally sliding a finger inside of her up the knuckle. She was hot and dripping wet, and he added another finger before proceeding to pump them in and out, first slowly and gradually increasing his speed while using his thumb to rub her clit in a soft circular motion.

Jennifer whimpered in ecstasy as she felt her walls first tighten, then clamp down hard on his fingers, fluttering rapidly for several seconds and causing white spots to burst before her eyes. Behind her, Alexandru chuckled. Cheeks flushed from her orgasm, she looked over her shoulder at him, eyes widening then glazing over as he lowered his mouth down to her soaked womanhood, spreading her apart with his tongue. He thrust his tongue in and out of her, lapping her slit from top to bottom, licking mischievously around but not directly on her clitoris before finally tracing the warm, wet muscle across and suckling the protruding nub of flesh as he continued to finger her, all while removing his hand from around her waist in order to reach up and toy with her hardened nipples. After a few minutes of his attentions, she let out a strangled cry, her hips vigorously bucking up and down as clear liquid dribbled from her slit, running down her thighs and dampening the sheets before she collapsed onto her stomach, trembling.

Examining the large wet patch, Alexandru grinned with approval at his handiwork. He placed a hand on her back and gave her a light shove in order to bend her over once more, placing the head of his cock at her drenched opening. He slid up and down across her pussy teasingly but just barely inserted his tip inside of her.

"What do you want?" He purred, barely moving at her opening, running his hands across her belly and around the sides of her hips.

Her breathing grew shallow. "I want you to fuck me raw", she ground out, pushing down in an attempt to force his cock into her. He entered her a bit further, and she pushed down on him once again in a desperate bid to get him to enter her more deeply. "Deeper, please," she begged, panting.

Alexandru's sclera began to bleed red as he at long last fully inserted himself into her tight passage. Suppressing a moan, he leisurely sunk himself into her warm, slick crevice before increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and rougher as he allowed his mind to roam. In his fantasy, the woman writhing beneath him wasn't a random trollop who, smitten by his good looks and debonair mannerisms, blindly allowed him, a complete stranger, to take her in such an animalistic and debased manner. No, in his distorted frame of mind, Jennifer was Elizabeta, his long-lost love from eons ago, and he was gently taking her as his rather than violently pounding her from behind like a dog in heat. The tautness around his manhood was the tight embrace of a virgin passage instead of the well-practiced fluttering of an experienced woman, the frenzied squirming under him the pained but pleasured movement of his innocent love, so delicate and pure that she was in agony as she tried her best to please him, not the orgasmic thrashing of a whore desperately riding him in order to cum.

"Ooh, fuck baby! Alex...Harder!" The raspy screams snapped him back to reality as though he had been doused with ice water. Rage coursed through him like a tidal wave made of molten lava. _She just couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut for this, could she? _Lips curling back from his pointed teeth in a snarl, he looked down at Jennifer as she shrieked and panted, her hips squirming so wildly that he had to grip her tightly with both hands just to hold her in place. Furious, he dug his fingers so deeply into the grooves of her hips that bruises began to blossom beneath his fingertips, but she merely took it as a sign of his enjoying himself, for she increased her volume and continued to erratically push herself up and down on his cock. She even had the gall to turn and look at him over her shoulder when he began to squeeze the flesh of her hips. "I like it rough," she whispered throatily.

"You like it rough, eh?" He muttered darkly. _Well then, I sincerely hope you enjoy this. _With that, he began to pound into her with such force that her head banged into the headboard with each thrust, reaching down to roughly play with her clit as he pulled her hair so forcefully that her entire upper body was raised from the bed. He continued to relentlessly ram in and out of her until he was sure that her abused walls would be raw and bruised. _Just like you asked, you loud-mouthed bitch. _At long last, he found his release, his hot seed spilling deep inside of her in creamy rivulets. Alexandru grunted, slamming into her several more times before pulling himself out.

She flipped onto her back, sapphire eyes hazy, body dusted with a light pink flush . "That was fucking incredible," she breathed. Alexandru was silent, staring at the way she lay sprawled on his bed, limbs spread in every direction with his essence leaking from her swollen lips and drying between her thighs, on the sheets. "I'm serious, that was the best sex I've ever had-"

Her words died in a wet gurgle as he sank his teeth straight into her jugular, severing her carotid artery. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying against the wall in a morbid pattern of scarlet exclamation points. Jennifer clapped a hand to her mangled throat in a frantic effort to stem the bleeding, her eyes clearly asking why. Alexandru smiled at her, and this time she took notice of his blood-flecked, knife-edged incisors. He tapped his chin, looking thoughtful as he licked the small stream of her blood streaming from his lower lip. "I'm sure you are wondering why is it that I've decided to kill you after this admittedly enjoyable session. There are many reasons, really. You scream too loudly, your eyes are the wrong colour, I was thirsty, you would more than likely give me a venereal disease if I were human... The list goes on. Anyway, it seems that you are bleeding out, and rather than leave you there to writhe in the agonies of a drawn-out death, I will be a gentleman and repay you for the use of your luscious body by aiding you along." Still smiling, he placed his hands around her neck in an almost tender fashion before twisting it around viciously. The wet snap of bone resonated throughout the room, even as he let her corpse fall from his arms. It landed limply on the mattress, bouncing several times before stilling, head flopping at an unnatural angle.

Alexandru sighed contentedly, gazing with at the gape-mouthed corpse with mild interest. "The best sex she had ever had, she said? Too bad it was also the last sex she ever had. Then again, it is nice to save the best for last, isn't it?" He laughed softly, relieved that he no longer had to deal with her. "She really didn't know when to shut up."


End file.
